Homesick
by JillmarieJ
Summary: Stanford era brotherly pining. Sam's been at Stanford for nearly two months. He doesn't understand why he's miserable and depressed since he should be living the dream. His roommate calls him 'homesick' and Sammy finally realizes what he had now that it's gone. Wincest implied bottom Sam


It was mid-October. Eight weeks into his "normal life". Fifty-eight days of Sam Winchester being his own man and living on his own… in a crowded dorm room with a self-entitled jock named Chance Wellington.

The excitement of Stanford dissolved into drudgery and a layer of depression Sam didn't understand. He was living the life he dreamt of but he wasn't happy. Today, instead of studying outside in the sun or even in the library, Sam was sleeping.

"What the hell, Winchester. Get up. I've got to make this room presentable," Chance growled as he slammed around in the small space.

"Mmph, leave me alone."

"No. It's parent's weekend and if my old man sees that I let you sleep all day and the mess up in my space he'll have my hide," Chance argued, stuffing laundry into a bag.

"Why would he care about my half of the room?" Sam asked mostly into his pillow.

"A leader leads," Chance replied. "Dad expects me to be be a leader in everything I do. That includes you."

Sam burrowed under the covers. "Sucks to be you."

Chance groaned again. "Come on man. Aren't your parents coming?"

"No."

"That's too bad. It would probably help with your homesickness if they did." He opened the window letting in sunlight and fresh air. "Can you help me out this one time? Maybe go somewhere for a couple hours Saturday while they're here?"

Sam pulled the covers over his head and mumbled something noncommittal. How could he be homesick if he never had a home?

* * *

Lucas Brown swallowed the urge to kill when the package he delivered caused all the ignored mail to slide from Sam Winchester's overflowing 'mailbox'. Whoever was sending him this shit didn't have the kid's correct address so his mail ended up in the student housing offices. Lucas had emailed the kid a ton of times, yet the mail and packages remained. Stupid ass freshman probably didn't know how to check his email.

Lucas carelessly stuffed everything into a box and looked up Sam's dorm number in the directory.

"Hello?"

"Is this Sam Winchester?"

"Yes. Who -"

"Do you ever check your email?"

"My email?" Sam repeated while praying nothing important had been sent to him since he'd forgotten that password the first week.

"Yes, your email," Lucas growled. "Nevermind. Get to student housing before I set a match to the mail you have sittin' here."

"Mail?"

"Yes, mail. Do you repeat everything?" Lucas sighed. Maybe the kid was slow. "Come to the student housing office. Do you know where that is?"

"Yeah, sure," Sam replied as he laced his shoes. "I'll be there in ten minutes."

Seeing the kid's face light up when he saw all the mail almost made it worthwhile, Lucas thought. "You should really tell your people your proper address. Student mail shouldn't be sent here."

"Yeah. Right. I will," Sam said with a huge grin on his face. "Thanks a lot."

Lucas waved him away feeling pleased to have put that smile on Sam's face.

In his room, Sam reverently put the postcards and letters in chronological order. He was dying to open the small box, but as it was the most recent, it was last to be opened.

Dear Sam,

Sorry about Dad. He didn't mean what he said. He's just worried about you, you know? He only sees you as a kid doesn't matter that you're eighteen. He doesn't see how much you've grown up. I wish I could have gone with you. I wanted to make sure you got settled okay. You're not spending every minute in the library are you? Remember, no matter how smart you get I'll still be able to kick your ass.

Hope your roommate's not a douche and try not to gas the guy out. Unless he is a douche. Then feel free to do any and all of the shit I used to do to you to him.

Smell ya later,

Dean

Sam tore into the next letter dated less than a week after the first one.

Sammy,

God Dad's being an asshole. He's still mad at you. He's still taking it out on me. - don't worry about that it's nothing I can't handle- but Jeez what an ASSHOLE. I've washed and waxed the Impala cleaned every fuckin' gun and weapon a dozen times and he's still not satisfied. We've got to find a hunt soon or one of us is gonna kill the other.

D

Sammy,

Fuck I miss you. I'm at Uncle Bobby's and he's asked like a million questions about you and I don't have any answers for him. He won't ask anything when Dad's around of course. No one needs that shit storm. Call me when you can okay? I'd call you but I don't know when you're in class or whatever.

Miss you

D

Then came a stack of postcards. Maumee, Ohio had nothing on the back but his address in Dean's handwriting. Then one from Canton, Ohio and the football hall of fame. On the back Dean scrawled "Someday I'm doing more than just driving by this place." Next were cards from small oceanside towns Sam would have to find on a map, but Dean was obviously a whole continent away.

Sam's heart clenched. Now he understood what Chance meant by homesick. Reading that Dean missed him sharpened Sam's ache. He hadn't known what to call the misery he was in, but now it had a name.

The next envelope had a short letter and two plastic cards.

Sam,

I know you don't approve of this kind of thing but hear me out. Every college kid has a fake ID. You'll be one of the cool kids who can go buy beer now. And I know you don't want Waylon Smithers' credit card, but save it for emergencies. That scholarship won't pay for everything and I'll feel better knowing you have it, okay?

I heard Dad tell some guy you got a scholarship to Stanford. He actually sounded proud of you, Sammy.

You're busy and moving on with your life and all but can you call me sometime? I just wanna know you're okay.

D

Sam rolled his eyes at the ID and credit card. The picture Dean used for Sam's ID was from a year ago. No one would believe he was twenty-one. And Waylon Smithers? Really?

Next was a postcard from Cawker City, Kansas with a picture of the world's largest ball of twine. Sam's heart leapt into his throat. He couldn't stop staring at it. He smoothed his fingers over the picture acknowledging every bump and ridge from Dean's writing on the back.

Had Dean gone back there? Had he kept this postcard since that trip? Sam's face warmed as memories washed over him. The days he and Dean spent in Cawker City were the most amazing days of his life. The feel of Dean's mouth on his, the gentle touch of his hands, the love in his eyes. If Dean sent a card from there it had to mean something.

Sam willed his hand to stop trembling as he flipped the card.

Sammy

College boy like you probably knows the word for how I feel. I'm sad and I miss you but it's more than that. It's bigger somehow. You probably don't believe me but I can barely remember a time without you in my life. Like I've always been Dean and Sammy. Now I'm just me and it's hard getting used to it.

I'm sending this card cuz I can't bear to look at it anymore. **Every day** I think of you and this place. I remember how perfect you were, how perfect everything was & how the next day when I was wallowing in guilt and was sure you hated me, you smiled and kissed me and said 'let's do it again.' God Sammy there are times when that memory is all I need. There are other times when it sends me straight to a cold shower.

I'm not an idiot Sam. I can tell you want to put me and all this behind you. I get it. I guess it's time for you to be with someone who fits with your new life.

If you ever need anything, call me. You're only a day's drive from wherever I am. Take care of yourself. Stay safe. I love you Sammy - always have always will.

D

Sam stood up, cards and letters spilling from his bed to the floor. Dean. He had to call Dean right now. Phone. He spun around. Where did he leave his phone? He dropped to his knees and looked under his bed snaking an arm under it to sweep out everything within his reach. No phone. He yanked open his desk drawers upturning them onto the floor. As he shifted through the mess, Chance returned.

"Winchester, what the fuck, man? I told you my parents-"

"Shut up!" Sam yelled. "I don't care about your fucking parents. Help me find my phone. I'll clean all this up once I have my phone."

Taken aback by Sam's tone, Chance took a minute before he began to help. "When did you see it last?" he asked shifting through the pile closest to him.

"I don't, I don't know. I just gotta find it."

"Okay," Chance replied slowly as he took in the mess of letters and cards on Sam's bed. "Sam, what's all this?"

"I finally got my mail. Seems it was going to the wrong address," Sam answered while stuffing his hand into an empty duffel bag.

After five minutes of looking through the spilled contents of a drawer, Chance spoke up. "You know, I don't remember you ever using a phone. Are you sure you brought one? Maybe you forgot it."

The thought made Sam pause. "No. I'm sure I…" he trailed off pushing himself up and stepping over his mess to get to the tiny shared closet.

"Hey, use the room phone. I'll go grab some food or something and I've got a class later." Chance gingerly stepped across the clutter and snagged a book off his desk. "Clean this shit up by the time I get back."

Sam met his roommate's eye. "Thanks, Chance. And yeah. The place will be sparkling by the time your parents get here."

Chance nodded and left Sam alone to deal with his mess of a life and room.

"This is Dean."

"Dean?"

The muffled sound of Metallica's "Nothing Else Matters" was all Sam heard for a moment. Then finally, "Sammy? Is that you?"

"Yeah, Dean, it's me. Damn it's good to hear your voice."

"Sammy what is it? Is something wrong? Are you okay?"

"Yeah. No, it's nothing. I-" Sam was babbling but hearing Dean's voice after so long made his heart race. "Dean, I finally got your letters today. They were going to the wrong address." The line was silent for a moment making Sam worry. "Sorry, did I call at a bad time? I just wanted to talk. Should I call back?"

"No!" Dean answered eagerly. "I'm just surprised. I didn't expect to hear from you. I kinda didn't know what to expect, I guess. But, you're okay, right?"

Sam huffed a quiet laugh. "No, I'm miserable. I miss you so fucking much I think I'm going crazy."

"I miss you, too, kiddo." Dean cleared his throat. "How's school? Is it everything you thought it would be?"

Sam shifted in his desk chair. "The classes are more challenging but I'm doing okay."

"Of course you are. You've always been a smart little shit. What's your roommate like?"

"He's a super rich jock asshole but," Sam looked at his stuff strewn across the room, "it's parents' weekend. His folks'll be here Saturday."

"Oh," Dean said quietly. "Did you want me to try to talk to Dad? He's near Denver on a hunt and well, you know how he gets. He might not make it to your thing, Sammy."

"I'm not calling about Dad," Sam laughed. "Where are you? Are you with him or -"

"I'm in Springfield, Oregon. Why? Do you want _me_ to come to parents' weekend?"

"No," Sam laughed again. "I was thinking maybe Waylon Smithers would buy a bus ticket to - hold on," he paused. He shifted through his pile of stuff to find his map to locate a halfway point, "Mount Shasta. I'll get a ticket to Mount Shasta and a room at the Strawberry Valley Inn."

"Sammy, I told you that card should only be used for emergencies," Dean chided him playfully. "Waylon can buy the bus ticket but Montgomery Burns will pay for the room."

Sam grinned at the name. "Deal. Can you get there by Saturday?"

"I can be there tomorrow if you want."

"Yeah, I want," Sam replied breathlessly. Clearing his throat he continued, "I'll call you from the bus station when I get in. Wait, no, I don't have a phone. I'll figure something out. I'm sure there's a pay phone."

"Sam Uncle Bobby sent you a phone. Of course he sent it to the same wrong address I was using so maybe you didn't get it."

Sam spun around to find the last unopened box from his mail. "No, I might have. I didn't open everything. I read the card you sent from our ball of twine and I...I had to talk to you." His voice trailed off. "Dean, I'm sorry I didn't call sooner."

"It's okay, Sammy, you're busy."

"I shoulda made time. Dean. I miss you so much." Sam ran his fingers over the postcard from Cawker City. "This weekend I wanna do all those things we did in Kansas and more."

"Fuck, Sammy," Dean whined.

"Yes, definitely. In twenty four hours that's exactly what I want you to do."


End file.
